The Weasley Vials
by ReillyJade
Summary: Two years after their breakup, Ron and Hermione are, with a little help from Ginny, presented with a chance to make things right and have a new beginning. But for Hermione, a new beginning must start with the past, and the past is in the vials. After all, a new beginning shouldn't start on lies.
1. Chapter 1: A Visit from Ginny

_DISCLAIMER:_ All of the places and characters in this story belong to the genius Ms. J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made from this story. It only serves to (hopefully) entertain_._

This story is rated M for language and sexual content in later chapters. (In other words, this isn't one for the kiddos.) Enjoy! :)

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_**Chapter 1 – A Visit from Ginny**_

Hermione sighed, closing the book in her lap for the third time that evening and gently tossing it to the side. There was no use trying to read. She hadn't been able to concentrate on anything since she walked by the newsstand in the Ministry atrium on her way to her office. He had been on the cover of _Witch Weekly._ Again. With _her._

Her name was Alesia Halligan and she was the seeker for the Caerphilly Catapults. She was tall and thin and had the prettiest blue eyes Hermione had ever seen. She figured that's the type of girl he had wanted all along: a girl with smooth, straight hair, a smile of perfect teeth, and a deep interest in Quidditch. All in all, she was the kind of girl Hermione never was and never would be.

_Oh, stop it,_ Hermione thought to herself. _It's been two years. Get over it._

But she knew that wasn't possible. She'd never truly be over Ron.

Hermione sipped some wine as she thought about the two years since she and Ron ended things. They had split for not one reason, but for a bunch of stupid little things. She had gone on a few dates since the breakup, but none of the blokes she went out with were ever interesting enough to consider for a second date, let alone an actual relationship. She would constantly compare them to Ron, sometimes without even realizing she was doing it. None of their smiles measured up to Ron's adorable lopsided grin. They never talked with their mouths full like Ron always did, something that drove Hermione nuts but made her giggle nonetheless. And none of them ever had the guts to challenge anything she said; they just agreed with her all the time and threw in smiles and nods for good measure.

Merlin, did she actually miss _bickering_ with Ron?

One of the things she missed the most was The Burrow. More specifically, she missed the kitchen - that warm, welcoming kitchen filled with happy faces, chaotic chatter, and endless laughs. She yearned to once again sit at that table with the people she had come to love more than anything. They were her family. She missed them all dearly.

She still saw Ginny regularly, of course; after all, she was really the only constant female friend Hermione ever had. She also kept in touch with Molly and Arthur on occasion, but it would never be what it once was. Hermione always politely declined their invitations to family and holiday dinners. Though she was always humbled to be included, she could never accept their offers. The thought of once again being in the same room with them, all of them, especially with Ron there, was too weird. It would feel too strange, too..._wrong_.

No. She could never go back to the Burrow again. Ever.

Not after everything she did.

Hermione took not a sip, but a gulp from her wineglass. She always made it a point to not think about certain things she'd done in the past few years, but every once in a while, they wandered into her mind before she could stop them. Given, she only remembered fragments of each occasion, but those fragments were enough to consume her with guilt, remorse, and self-loathing. How could she have been so daft? Furthermore, how could she have repeatedly made the same stupid blunder? Sometimes she couldn't help but think it was a misnomer to be labeled as "the brightest witch of her age."

Suddenly, Hermione felt lonely. She wished she could talk to someone not just about missing Ron and that stupid magazine cover, but about the mistakes she made that she simply couldn't escape no matter how hard she tried. But how would she talk to someone about those? Not only were they incredibly humiliating, but she didn't remember much of them. A few months back, she'd removed each of those memories from her mind, stored them in tiny glass vials, and tucked them away in the back of her potions cabinet. Out of sight, out of mind, she had assumed. She was wrong.

Then, as if on cue, Ginny came soaring through the fireplace.

"Ginny, what the-?" Hermione exclaimed, jumping in her seat and nearly spilling the small amount of wine left in her glass.

"Sorry, I should have let you know I was coming," Ginny replied as she stood up, brushing the dust off her purple robe in the process. "Ugh, I hate the Floo. Kitchen?"

"Er, okay," Hermione said, waving her wand and clearing up the remaining dust from the floor before following her red-haired friend into the adjacent room.

"Got anything stronger than wine?" Ginny asked once in the kitchen. She didn't bother to wait for Hermione's answer before she began rummaging through the cabinets. Hermione didn't mind, as she did the same thing whenever she went to Harry and Ginny's, anyway. Her place was theirs, and vice versa. It was nice to at least have some family left, she thought.

"Ah, here we go," Ginny said gleefully when she found a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey. "Want me to pour you a glass?"

"No, thanks. I have to work in the morning."

"Suit yourself," Ginny conceded with a shrug. "Wait, what do you mean you have to work tomorrow? Tomorrow's Saturday."

"I'm going in for a few hours to get some paperwork done," Hermione said. "Might as well catch up while I have the spare time."

Ginny shook her head and leaned against the counter. "You work too much."

"It's not like I have anything better to do."

"Maybe you would if you allowed some time for yourself," Ginny countered. "Anyway, I came her for a reason. We need to talk."

"About?"

"Ron."

Hermione wasn't sure whether she should have jumped with joy or scurried away into the next room to bawl her eyes out. Being honest with herself, she actually wanted to both very badly. Instead, though, she stood in the kitchen and acted as if the mention of Ron's name had no affect on her.

"What about Ron?' she asked smoothly, sitting down at the table.

Ginny took a sip of firewhiskey and sighed. "Alright, look. I'm just going to get straight to the point. Do you still love him?"

"We've been broken up for two years, Gin."

"It's a yes or no question, Hermione. Do you love him or not?"

"Ginny, after all this time, I don't think I could possibly-"

"Still waiting..." Ginny taunted.

"Okay, fine," Hermione relented. "I may still have _some_ feelings for him. Happy?"

"Very," Ginny said with a grin.

"Why? It's not like anything could ever happen between us again. He's moved on."

"What makes you say that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's been seeing that girl who plays for the Catapults. Didn't you see the cover of the latest _Witch Weekly?_"

"You mean that Alesia twit?" Ginny asked. "Please. They were hardly a couple. Besides, that picture was taken ages ago."

"Then why put it on the cover now?"

"It's obvious, isn't? A handsome war hero, a gorgeous Quidditch player...who wouldn't want to read about that? But it's all fake. Tabloid rubbish."

"You mean...they were never together?"

"Well, they were," Ginny admitted, "but it was an on-and-off thing. He liked her, but not enough to stick with her. And thank Merlin, too. She's such a snot."

Hermione looked down at her hands, not really sure what to make of what Ginny was telling her. Ginny always had a reason for bringing things up. What was the point of coming all the way to her place at nine o'clock in the evening to talk about Ron?

"Even if they aren't together," Hermione began, "it doesn't matter. He and I are finished. Done."

"I don't think that's true."

"Why not?"

"He still loves you, Hermione."

Hermione's eyes shot up at Ginny. "Yeah, alright. Time to put the firewhiskey away, Gin."

"I'm serious. He was visiting the other night and I overheard him talking to Harry in the sitting room. Harry brought up Alesia, asked how they were doing and whatnot, and Ron said it was never going to go anywhere because she isn't...well, _you_."

Hermione snorted, not believing a word of what Ginny was saying.

"You must have heard him wrong," she insisted. "If he had any feelings left for me whatsoever, he'd have contacted me. He knows where I work and where I live. He could have visited anytime, or written."

"Yeah, because the owls carrying letters from you have been flocking to his window," Ginny remarked sarcastically with a roll of her eyes and a sip of her drink.

"Fair point," Hermione admitted. "But even if we wanted to fix things, it's too late."

"It's never too late. Why do you think I'm here?"

"For the liquor?"

"Ha, well, yeah," Ginny said with a grin. "But honestly, you two can fix things. He wants to see you, Hermione."

Hermione raised her eyes to her best friend.

"What?" she whispered.

"He wants to see you," Ginny repeated.

"He told Harry that?"

"No, he told me after I cornered him later on that evening."

"Of course you did," Hermione said. She wouldn't have expected anything less from Ginny. "What did you say to him?"

"What do you think? I told him I heard everything, that I thought he was a prat for not admitting things sooner, and...well, that I thought you still cared for him, too."

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed. "I never even _told_ you that! What if you were wrong?"

"Honestly, Hermione, you're the worst at hiding your feelings. I can read you like a book. I knew I wasn't wrong."

Hermione closed her eyes and gently rubbed her temples, desperately trying to will away the headache she could feel slowly developing. It was only going to get worse if she began over-thinking things, and seeing as she was Hermione Granger, she knew that's exactly what she'd end up doing.

"I think I might need that drink now," she mumbled.

"I figured as much," Ginny said, pouring a generous amount of firewhiskey into a crystal glass. She brought it over to the table and sat down across from Hermione.

"I can't meet with him, Gin," Hermione said the second Ginny was across from her. "I just can't."

"Why not? You care about him and he cares about you. I mean, it's not going to be a picnic, but-"

"No, Ginny, I'm serious. I _can't_ meet up with him. There would be no point. There's no chance of us fixing things."

"Again, I ask, why not?"

Hermione slowly spun her glass around, watching the amber liquid swirl around inside of it, but didn't take a sip.

"Too much has happened," she muttered in a barely audible whisper.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with those four little memories you've got stashed away in your potions cabinet, would it?"

Hermione looked up from her glass with an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, I know about those," Ginny continued. "You let me borrow some hangover potion a couple months ago, remember? I saw them glittering in the back. They _are_ memories, aren't they?"

Hermione nodded reluctantly. "Yeah."

"What are they memories of, exactly?"

"You don't want to know. They're bad. _Really_ bad."

"Fair enough," Ginny said. "If you took them out of your head, they must be pretty awful."

"They are, and because of them I know I can never fix things with Ron."

"But they're out of your mind. Ron doesn't have to know about them."

Hermione sighed. "I couldn't do that. If there was ever a chance of us getting back together, the last thing I'd want to do is start the relationship off on a lie. Four lies, in fact. I'd have to put them back in, and once they're in, they'll be unavoidable. I'll have to tell him. And trust me, Gin, he'll _never _forgive me for them. He could love me more than the Chudley Cannons, but once he finds out about what I've done, he'll hate me."

Ginny shook her head. "He could never hate you, Hermione. Besides, whatever you've done can't be that bad in comparison to him. He hasn't exactly been a gentleman since you two broke up."

"Gin, I'm serious. Nothing he's done could ever measure up to what's in those damn vials."

"Well, I don't know what's in them, so I can't judge," Ginny relented. "But I do know it's a good sign that you're willing to be honest with him."

Hermione eyed Ginny. "You really think I should meet with him?"

Ginny was silent for a moment before answering. "I think you've got nothing to lose."

She nodded. Ginny made a fair point. If, by some miracle, they were able to work through things, she could have Ron again. But if they didn't, well...at least she'd have given it a try.

"Alright then. When and where?"

"Tomorrow night, Leaky Cauldron. I'll let him know."

"I still think this is a bad idea," Hermione said.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't. Like I said, you've got nothing to lose."

_Yeah, other than my dignity,_ Hermione added silently.

"Do you want me to hang around while you put the memories back in?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, but thanks. I should probably be by myself when I do that."

"Alright," Ginny said with a nod, standing up from the table. "I guess I'll be going, then. Is eight o'clock okay for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Hermione replied, taking her first sip of firewhiskey. It burned her throat on the way down, reminding her that she never much liked the drink. She pondered for a moment why she asked for a glass, never mind why she even had it in the house.

"Okay. I'll owl him tonight, then. I really think this a good thing, Hermione."

"I hope you're right."

Ginny smirked. "I'm always right."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "Have a good night, Gin. Say hi to Harry for me."

"Will do. 'Night."

Ginny vanished into the sitting room, and when the familiar _whoosh_ indicated that she'd disappeared into the fireplace, Hermione let out a heavy sigh. She was meeting Ron tomorrow. She was going to talk to him face-to-face for the first time since they broke up. She was going to see him for the first time in two years.

And she was going to have to tell him about the contents of those damn vials.

Hermione sighed once more, knowing she couldn't put it off much longer. She always knew she'd have to put the memories back into her mind one day, but she never thought the time would come so soon. She'd hoped she'd get at least a few years of peace before she had to go back to hating herself again.

Once in her study, she closed the door behind her. She wasn't really sure why, seeing as she lived alone. She supposed it just seemed fitting for what she was about to begin doing. She fiddled with her wand as she walked across the room to her potions cabinet. She opened it slowly, almost as if she thought those little vials of memory were going to jump out at her. But they didn't. They merely let off a slight, silver glow from their dwelling in the very back on the bottom shelf.

Hermione gently pushed aside her supplies of Veritaserum, Essence of Dittany, and Dreamless Sleep Draught to pull out the glittering vials. Unlike everything else in her potions cabinet, these vials weren't labeled with names, but with dates. She lined the four of them up on her desk and stared at them for a while. As she looked at them, the fragments from each of them flashed through her mind. They were all little things. An unsteady breath, a flash of light, a pang of guilt...all things that could easily be part of various everyday scenarios, but she knew they were tiny pieces connected to the contents of the vials, and it made her sick. She was so _stupid._

For a moment, Hermione contemplated forgetting the whole thing and shoving the memories back into the cabinet. She _could_ lie to Ron if she really wanted to, and he'd never be the wiser. But she knew she couldn't do that. It wouldn't be fair to either of them.

She twisted her wand in her hands again as she tried to decided where to start. Part of her wanted to begin with what she knew was the worst one and get that over with, but she decided against that right away. She had no idea what the experience of reinserting a memory would be like, and if it turned out to be particularly taxing, she didn't want to do the worst one first and be too stressed or too tired to do the other three. No, she'd start with the tamest and work her way up.

Oddly enough, the dates on the vials corresponded to the intensity of each memory in them; the tamest thing she'd done had been first, and her screw-ups had only gotten worse after that. Hermione sighed.

_Chronologically it is, then,_ she thought.

She picked up the vial labeled 12 June, 2000, and when she popped open the top, the fumes rose from within it. Again, fragments flew through her mind. A day at the office. Strawberry yogurt. Frustration. Anger. A knock. A hug. And there was that pang of guilt again.

This vial was Percy's.

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**Author's Note:** Just a friendly warning that if you're a strict R/Hr shipper and can't stand the thought of either of them being with anyone else ever (even if there's a chance they'll end up together again at some point,) this is the time to back out of the story. Of course I hope that I peaked your interest with this chapter and that you'll want to continue reading, but I know there are diehard fans of the ship and I completely understand that reading about them having even minor relationships with other people upsets them. My intention with this story is not to offend R/Hr shippers (seeing as I'm one myself, haha,) but to play with a little idea I've had that simply would not go away.

You've been warned. Therefore, please don't flame. Flaming is mean, and mean people suck. Don't suck. :)

This story is part of The Ultimate 'Blame Me!' Challenge over on the HPFC forum. Much thanks to CeliaEquus for giving me a reason to write this story. XD

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2: Working with Percy

**_Chapter 2 – Working with Percy_**

_It has to be done,_ Hermione kept thinking to herself. _Just get it over with. Just do it._

Hermione had been staring at the vial in her hand for about five minutes, slowly rolling it between her fingers and watching the shiny silver memory swish around inside it. She wasn't really sure what was holding her back, seeing as she had already made her decision to return the memories to her head. That's where they belonged, anyway.

But there was still time to change her mind, still time to put them back in the cabinet...

_No,_ she thought. _No, no, no. You have to do this._

Before she could grapple with the decision any longer, Hermione dipped the tip of her wand into the vial and scooped out the memory. The way it simply attached itself to her wand fascinated her; it was almost as if the memory itself was eager to get back into her head.

_Well, here it goes,_ she thought. She proceeded to press the tip of her wand gently to her temple before feeling the silver stream of glitter seep its way into her mind...

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**12 June, 2000**

Hermione's lunch breaks were never very interesting, but this particular day was different.

And not in a good way.

She absentmindedly ate her strawberry yogurt as she glared at the open parcel on her desk that arrived just a couple of minutes earlier. The box contained about fifty Chocolate Frogs and a note written in Ron's sloppy scrawl:

_Thought some of these could brighten your day, sweetheart._

Hermione could practically see the sarcasm dripping off the note, and she could perfectly envision Ron sitting at work and laughing to himself about his snarky gesture. He was such an immature prat.

_I hate him,_ she thought, jamming another spoonful of yogurt into her mouth. _I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!_

She didn't really hate Ron, of course. She was just beyond irritated with him. They had another one of their rows that morning, and this time, it had been about Chocolate Frogs, of all things. So what if she didn't want her name and photograph on a dumb little card tucked inside the wrapping of a sweet? That wasn't any of his business. It wasn't as if she was going to be rude about it, either; she was just going to write a polite letter declining the offer to be on a card.

Ron, naturally, was _thrilled_ to be asked to be on a Chocolate Frog card, and he couldn't understand why Hermione didn't want to be.

_But it's meant to be an honor, Hermione!_ he'd said during breakfast, spewing out bits of toast as he did so. _What's wrong with having your accomplishments recognized?_

_Accomplishments? What accomplishments?_ Hermione had countered. _Fighting in a battle? Killing people in cold blood? Yeah, what wonderful achievements._

_Look, just because you went back to school and have a cushy job at the Ministry now-_

_That is NOT-_

_-doesn't mean you're better than the rest of us. Get off your fucking high horse!_

_How _dare _you! I'm trying to move on, Ronald!_

_Yeah? And I'm trying to remember that we defeated the most evil being our world has ever __seen! There's nothing wrong with celebrating that!_

_I never said there was, but Merlin, Ron, it's been two years! It's time to move on! It's time to let go!_

_And forget all we achieved?_

_I'm not forgetting that! I just don't want to have the reminder of it plastered to a damn Chocolate Frog card, okay?_

The argument went as such for a few more minutes, getting harsher and further away from the original topic the more they yelled. It was how all their fights were as of late: beginning on a seemingly harmless topic and escalating to verbal brawls that seemed to last for hours.

"Chocolate _fucking _frogs!" Hermione said angrily, chucking the rest of her yogurt at the wall and shoving the box from Ron off her desk. She couldn't yell at work, so making a mess to let out her frustration was the next best thing. After the remaining yogurt was splattered on the wall near her door and the floor covered in sweets, she closed her eyes, rested her elbows on her desk, and put her head in her hands.

It wasn't just the Chocolate Frogs, and she knew it. She and Ron had always bickered, but it was never anything extreme. During the past couple of months, however, their petty little arguments had become so intense and vicious, and they were occurring nearly every day. Hermione had heard of couples going through low points, but what she and Ron were going through was far beyond a low point. Their relationship was falling apart.

_No,_ Hermione thought to herself. _You love him. He loves you. This will all fix itself in time. We're meant to be. Don't give up. Be strong. It's not over._

As always, Hermione was a terrible liar, even to herself.

Then, there was an unwelcome knock on her office door.

"What?" Hermione scowled, not even bothering to look up. The door opened slightly.

"Sorry, Hermione, I know you're on your lunch break, but I just had to – whoa! What happened here?"

"Hi, Percy," Hermione mumbled, recognizing the voice immediately. "It's nothing."

"Bad day?" he queried, stepping into her office.

"You could say that."

"What's my dolt of a brother done now?" Percy asked sarcastically. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle a bit.

"He sent me Chocolate Frogs," Hermione said, finally looking up.

"And that's a bad thing?"

"It is when we had a huge row about them this morning."

"Fighting about Chocolate Frogs, eh? That's a new one."

"It's a long story," Hermione sighed.

"Let me guess," Percy said. "You were both asked to be on Chocolate Frog cards. You want to decline the offer, and Ron's angry about it." When Hermione looked taken aback, Percy laughed and continued. "I just saw Harry a few minutes ago. He got a letter about it this morning, too."

"Oh...well, that makes sense, I suppose," Hermione said, leaning back in her chair. "You don't think I'm being completely irrational, do you?"

Percy shrugged, waving his wand to clean up the yogurt from the wall and tidy up the sweets all over the floor. "If you don't want to be on a Chocolate Frog card, then you shouldn't have to be. It's as simple as that."

Hermione snorted. "Try telling that to Ron."

"He'll come around," Percy assured her. "He always does."

"Yeah, I know," Hermione mumbled, staring out the window. She sounded anything but convincing.

"Something else is bothering you," Percy stated, though there was a hint of a question in his voice.

Hermione said nothing for a few moments. She didn't really want to talk about was going on between her and Ron. She told herself it was because Percy was both a coworker and Ron's brother, but it was really because talking about it would make it real. She wouldn't be able to avoid it any more.

"How are things with Audrey?" Hermione asked instead.

A small grin appeared on Percy's face as he sat down in the chair near the window. "So far, wonderfully. I really like her. She's lovely."

"That's great," Hermione replied with a smile. It was nice to see Percy happy for a change. He was still the same workaholic he'd always been, of course, but he'd changed a lot since the war. He was much more relaxed and personable. And now that he had Audrey, it was obvious he was finally allowing some time for a life outside of the office. That was a good thing; he needed that.

"Yeah."

"Do you two ever argue?"

"Er, occasionally about where to go out for dinner, but nothing worse than that. Why?"

Hermione simply continued her inquiry. "You two haven't...er...sort of hit a rough patch, have you?"

"Not really. Seeing as we've only been together for a few months, though, I'd be quite concerned if we were going through a rough patch already."

"Right," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Don't mind me. I'm not really myself today."

"Is...is everything alright between you and Ron, Hermione?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. Why?"

Percy shrugged. "Well, you're asking about relationship troubles..." Percy didn't finish his statement. Instead, he just looked at her with both inquiry and concern in his eyes.

"We've just been rowing a lot lately, that's all," Hermione admitted, gazing over Percy's shoulder and out the window.

"Rowing is normal, Hermione."

"Not like this," Hermione said. "I mean, we've been _rowing._ Shouting matches, tears, him or me sleeping on the couch...everything."

Percy leaned back in his chair, dumbfounded. "That doesn't sound like the two of you at all."

"I know. I don't even know why this is happening. I mean, it took us forever to finally get together, and we were _so_ happy. It was tough last year when I was finishing up at Hogwarts, of course, but once I got back I thought we could really get our lives going. I thought he felt the same way."

"So...you want to get married, and he doesn't?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not exactly. We've actually talked about getting married, and we both want to eventually. It's just that I want to get other things squared away first before we take that step. I want to get more settled in here at the Ministry and really make a name for myself. I want us to have some money in the bank. I want him to figure out if he's going to go for being an Auror or not; he still hasn't made up his mind. And the war...Merlin, I just want to move on. I'm tired of getting letters from the Prophet asking for interviews. I'm tired of getting recognized on the street. And that's where Ron and I are clashing."

Percy nodded. "He likes the fame."

"Of course he does. I'm not mad at him for that, either. And I don't mind occasionally answering questions or taking a picture with someone, but it's been two years, for goodness sake. I just want to be left alone, you know? A couple of months ago, we were at the Three Broomsticks and I saw someone keep staring at us. Then I noticed she had a notepad in front of her, so obviously she was from some magazine. I told Ron I wanted to leave, and he got upset. He said I was being selfish. He'd had a few Butterbeers by then, mind you, and I know I was being a bit over-dramatic about the whole thing, but I just snapped."

"In the middle of the Three Broomsticks?"

"No. Once we got back to our flat, we fought like we never had before, and it was _awful_. Just awful. I yelled about how he needs to stop spending every night at the pub and make up his mind about his future, he screamed about how I'm so uptight about everything and need to relax, and...well, you get the picture. We haven't been the same since. That night just left a bitter taste our mouths. We've been so cold toward each other, we haven't been going out together unless it's with Harry and Ginny, we haven't shagged in _weeks_, and-" Hermione stopped suddenly, her face flushing.

"Oh my," she stammered, "I can't believe I just said that...I'm sorry...I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this..."

"It's alright," Percy said, though he did shift in his seat uncomfortably while his ears turned scarlet. "However, maybe you should save talking about...er..._intimacy_ for the next time you see Ginny."

"Noted," Hermione said with a chuckle. "But honestly, I feel terrible about the things I said to him that night because I was just so rude. But at the same time, I feel like they needed to be said. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do."

"Is it wrong that I want to put the war behind us?" Hermione asked. "I understand where he's coming from. I understand that he wants to go out for drinks with Harry and Seamus and everyone else and just _celebrate. _But I just can't do that anymore. I can't keep remembering the war and...well, the war. If I keep reminding myself of it all the time, I'll go mad."

"You have to do what's best for you, Hermione," Percy said. "But, like you already know, Ron's different."

"I know, and I love him for that," Hermione said. "But I can't keep remembering, and it's tearing us apart. It's pulling us in different directions, and I don't want to lose him. I _can't_ lose him."

Hermione hung her head, holding back the tears that were threatening to fall. She wasn't going to let herself cry at work, and certainly not in front of Percy. She looked up when she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"It'll be alright, Hermione," Percy assured her. "You and Ron have always worked things out. This is just another bump in the road. This one may take a little longer to work through, but you'll get there. Cheer up."

Hermione sniffled and wiped the wetness from her eyes.

"Thanks," she mumbled with a smile. "I hope you're right. And I'm sorry I dumped this all this on you."

"Don't worry about it."

"And thanks for tidying my office."

"Not a problem."

"But something tells me you didn't come here to clean yogurt off the wall and listen to my love troubles."

Percy laughed. "True, I didn't, but I can always come back later. You have a lot on your mind right now."

"Oh no, that means you had bad news for me..."

"Quite the contrary," Percy said, holding up a manila folder Hermione hadn't noticed he'd been carrying. "I actually have good news."

"Really? Oh please, tell me now. I could use some good news."

"Well, remember earlier when you said you were trying to make a name for yourself here? I don't think you need to worry."

"Meaning?"

Percy just grinned. "You did it."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Did what?"

"What do you think?" Percy asked happily. "It passed."

Hermione's eyes widened. She couldn't believe her ears. "This better not be a joke, Percy Weasley, or I swear to Merlin I'll hex you into next week."

"It's not a joke. Here, look," Percy said eagerly, opening the folder to show her its contents. "I mean, it still has to go through last-minute edits and it needs the final approval and signature from Mr. Shacklebolt, but those are just formalities. It's all but official, Hermione! Congratulations!"

"My...my first law?" Hermione stammered, snatching the folder from Percy's hands. It just couldn't be true. She'd only been working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for a year; her chances of getting fair wages for house-elves so soon had been nearly impossible. She'd assumed it'd take years for it to pass. But there it was. The evidence was right there in front of her. She, Hermione Granger, had succeeded in attaining fair wages for house-elves. S.P.E.W. hadn't been a failure after all.

In that moment, she forgot about her row with Ron that morning. She forgot about all of their rows. She forgot about that damn letter sitting on her desk at home, asking for permission to put her face on a Chocolate Frog card.

"Merlin's pants!" she exclaimed, jumping out of her chair. "Percy! I, we...ha! Oh, goodness...it passed! We did it!"

Percy simply chuckled as he, too, stood up. "I'm not taking any credit. This one was all you."

"Are you kidding, Percy? I couldn't have done this without you! Thank you!"

She just laughed as she threw her arms around him, and he couldn't help but laugh, too. Hermione was ecstatic. It finally felt like everything was beginning to pay off - taking so many extra classes, finishing up Hogwarts even though she didn't have to, putting in all those late nights at the office - and it felt absolutely spectacular.

"Thank you," she muttered, still embracing Percy. "Thank you so much for helping me with this."

"You're welcome, but I'm still not taking any credit. This one's yours, alright? Be proud of yourself."

Hermione just giggled and gave Percy a quick kiss on the cheek before backing away. They were still laughing when they pulled apart, and for a brief moment, Hermione wondered how Ron would take her good news. Would he be proud of her? Would he put all of their latest unresolved arguments aside and give her a big hug and kiss? Would he forget about the damn Chocolate Frog cards?

Or would he make another snide remark about how she was putting her work before everything else?

_Stop it,_ Hermione thought. _You two may be having some hard times, but he still loves you. Of course he'll be happy for you._

Once again, Hermione failed to convince herself, but she pushed her worries aside for a change. She was so elated about getting her proposed law passed that for once she didn't give a damn what Ron would think. She just stood there and laughed with Percy.

And she didn't know what made the thought cross her mind, but she couldn't help but notice how much Percy's lopsided smile was like Ron's.

Ron hadn't smiled with her, laughed with her, for weeks.

She missed that.

She missed smiles.

She missed laughing.

She missed _Ron._

And as Percy laughed with her, it felt like, for just a brief moment in time, that Ron was there. Laughing. Smiling. Caring.

It felt like he was back, like _they_ were back, just like they belonged.

So she seized the moment. She kissed him, and not in a platonic way. She pressed her lips to his and kept them them there. She let them linger for a few moments, savoring the moment and remembering what it was like to be happy. To be cared about. To laugh. To smile.

And then, out of nowhere, she realized what she was doing. It seemed like Percy did, too.

They pulled apart abruptly and averted their eyes from each other. Hermione's gaze darted around the room while Percy suddenly became very interested in the tile design on her office floor. Both of their faces were the shades of the couches in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"I'm sorry," Hermione mumbled after a long, awkward minute. "I...I didn't mean...I..."

"It's...er...alright."

"It was a mistake..."

"Yeah...I, um..."

"I didn't mean anything by it, honestly," Hermione continued, suddenly speaking very quickly. "I don't know what I was thinking. I love Ron, and you have Audrey..."

"It's alright, Hermione," Percy said, finally gathering up the courage to look at her. "It was just a kiss. It meant nothing. We can just pretend it never happened."

"You sure?"

He nodded, then smiled. "Yeah."

"Okay. Good. Okay."

"Erm...I better be going, then."

"Right, yeah...I'll see you later then."

"See you later."

Percy walked toward the office door, cleaning up a small, missed speck of strawberry yogurt as he did so. Just as he placed his hand on the doorknob, Hermione called his name.

"Percy?"

He spun around, not moving his hand.

"Yeah?"

"You...you won't tell anyone, will you?"

"About the law?"

"No, about...you know. The kiss."

Percy gave her an inquisitive look. "What kiss? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

Hermione couldn't help but smile. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it. See you later."

And with that, he was gone. Hermione stood there in her office, completely gobsmacked.

_Are you mental, Hermione?_ she thought. _He's Ron's _brother. _How daft can you possibly be?_

She shook her head and sat back down, doing everything in her power to take Percy's advice.

_We can just pretend it never happened._

"Never happened," Hermione said aloud, pushing her hair out of her face and returning to her work.

_It never happened. Never happened._

_Never happened._

_Never. . ._

_Ever. . ._

_Happened. . ._

* * *

Hermione stood there in her study as the last bit of the memory was absorbed back into her head, and images of her office, the folder containing her first law, and Percy all faded away into the depths of her mind. Only this wasn't like the last time she remembered the encounter; this time, she could retrieve it if she wanted to. Or _didn't_ want to. It could very well creep up on its own.

She had a feeling the latter was going to happen sooner or later.

"Okay," she said to herself. "That one wasn't that bad. Really, it wasn't that bad. It could have been worse."

She thought about it for a moment, wondering to herself why she had even bothered to take the effort to remove that particular memory from her mind. After all, it had only been a kiss, and a rather pathetic one at that. It had lasted all of two, maybe three, seconds, and it meant absolutely nothing. It had been a stupid mistake.

_A stupid mistake that just happened to occur when you and Ron were still together,_ she thought.

_That's_ what made that memory so bad. She'd kissed another man –Percy, of all people – while she was still Ron. It didn't matter that their relationship had been on the rocks, or that in the moment Percy had reminded her of Ron. It had still been a shitty thing to do.

But she couldn't dwell on it. She still had three more vials to go.

Hermione grabbed the next vial, which was dated barely two months after Percy's. She popped open the top, and once again, fumes rose from the vial. Unlike what happened with Percy's, however, fragments didn't fly through her mind upon the opening of this one. There were no emotions, no scents, no pictures. There was just a whole lot of black. And bitterness. And guilt.

That unpleasant pang of guilt was in this one, too.

* * *

**Author's Note: **My apologies for the slight delay with this chapter. Percy's always been a bit of a tough one for me to write. Hopefully the next chapter will be posted a bit quicker. After all, I am leaving soon for a trip soon; perhaps being bored in the terminal at the airport will make me write faster. :p

Much thanks to Katy, a.k.a. Bad Mum, for beta'ing this and putting up with my seemingly endless list of questions. You're awesome!

Thanks for reading! :)


	3. Chapter 3: Drinking With Charlie

**_Chapter 3 – Drinking with Charlie_**

As Hermione held the second of the four vials, she couldn't help but wonder why she could recall next to nothing about its contents. She hadn't even opened the remaining two, yet she nonetheless had extremely vague ideas about what was in them. And _who_ was in them. This led her to the conclusion that the vial in her hand was Charlie's.

_Charlie,_ she pondered, staring down at the memory. _What the hell happened with Charlie?_

It seemed peculiar to Hermione that Charlie had a vial. After all, he rarely visited England, and she would have remembered taking a trip to Romania if she'd done so. How could the two of them possibly run into each other outside of a Weasley family gathering?

Anxious to know the answer, Hermione dipped her wand into the vial, once again pressed it to her head, and allowed her skin to soak up the glitter...

* * *

**18 August, 2000**

This was pathetic. _Really_ pathetic. Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, was sneaking off to a dingy little pub in Muggle London. The pathetic part wasn't that Hermione was going out on a Friday night to have a drink by herself. When taking the circumstances into account, such an act was entirely justified. No, the pathetic part was that she couldn't go to one of the pubs in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. Even hotspots outside of the wizarding world weren't an option. Instead, she had to go all the way to one of the dodgiest parts of Muggle London just to have a glass of wine.

_This is ridiculous,_ she thought to herself, though she continued to walk toward the pub.

Ever since her breakup with Ron two weeks before, the press had gone positively berserk. After all, it's not often that two war heroes, as well as the two best friends of the great Harry Potter, end a lengthy relationship. She and Ron had been gracing the covers of all the major wizarding tabloids since the split. Owl after owl from reporters requesting interviews arrived daily at her new flat. She'd been reduced to Apparating directly into her office at work to avoid being followed. And forget going out to Flourish and Blotts or any other shop. Those days were over, at least until the media frenzy cooled down.

And the headlines...Merlin, they had really come up with some gems. Her personal favorite had been the one about how she'd invited her old flame Viktor Krum over for a threesome and Ron got jealous during the encounter because she didn't give him enough attention. Reporters would really come up with anything to make a quick Galleon, yet none of them had ever bothered to report the truth: she and Ron had simply grown apart, and their differences had become too great to work through. Evidently, the truth wasn't interesting enough to make the magazines fly off the shelves, so they stuck with publishing rubbish. It was Rita Skeeter all over again.

Sighing, Hermione walked into the little Muggle pub at the end of the street. There weren't many people in there; Hermione guessed perhaps a dozen. She plopped herself down into one of the many open seats at the bar, not even bothering to check if any of the people in the pub were people she knew. There was no way anyone from her world would be in a place like that. She wouldn't be recognized.

"Red wine, please," she said to the barman, who offered her a simple nod in reply.

"How's it going, Hermione?" she heard a voice mutter from a few seats down.

_You've got to be kidding me,_ Hermione thought angrily. Was there any one safe place in Britain that she could go where someone wouldn't know her name? She begrudgingly looked toward the source of the voice, squinting in disbelief when she saw a familiar arm covered in tattoos and a head of flaming red hair.

"_Charlie?"_ she muttered, completely gobsmacked. What was he doing in a Muggle pub, and such a cruddy one at that?

"Good to see you, too," Charlie mumbled sarcastically, not even bothering to put in the effort to look at her. Instead, he was staring down at his half-empty pint of ale, gripping the glass as if it would get up and run away at any given moment.

The barman handed her the glass of wine she'd ordered, and Hermione said a quick thank you before tossing a couple of quid on the counter. Picking up her handbag with her free hand, she hopped out of her seat and moved down to the other side of the bar to claim the vacant seat next to Charlie.

"I'm sorry. I'm just surprised to see you here. What _are_ you doing here, anyway?"

"I imagine the same thing as you, sweetheart. Drowning my sorrows," Charlie said, finally looking up with a sad smile. "I saw the magazines. You alright?"

Hermione sighed, though no tears swarmed her eyes at the reminder of the breakup. She'd been crying almost non-stop since it happened; she reckoned there were no tears left for her to cry.

"I'm as good as can be expected, I guess," Hermione said. "It's hard, but I'm coping."

"I don't suppose you want to tell me what happened."

Hermione snorted before taking a sip of her wine. "Well, the truth isn't in any of those trashy tabloids, that's for sure."

Charlie smirked. "You mean you _didn't_ break up over which of you would get the last slice of rhubarb pie?"

"Rhubarb pie? I can't say I've seen that one yet," Hermione laughed. "I thought I'd seen them all. And I don't even _like_ rhubarb pie. Ron doesn't, either."

"It's probably one of the only foods Ron doesn't like, actually."

"You're probably right."

"In all seriousness, though," Charlie continued, "do you want to talk about it?"

Hermione shrugged. "There's not really much to talk about. We just...grew apart, I guess."

"Meaning?"

"We were fighting a lot," Hermione admitted. "We were just starting to go in different directions, really. I was spending nearly all of my time at the office, and he was always out at the pub with Harry and the others."

"I'm guessing you were angry with him for not working enough, and he was angry with you for working too much?"

"Precisely. That and the fact that I couldn't stand being in the spotlight. He, on the other hand, loved it. We fought over that _constantly."_

"Well, if it's any consolation, Hermione, I doubt he loves the recent media attention."

"What makes you say that?"

"Getting recognized for saving the world is a hell of a lot different from getting recognized for splitting up with the one you love."

"Fair point," Hermione said with a sigh. "So, your turn. What brings you here?"

"Hm?"

"Charlie, you're never in England, and on the rare occasions you are, you're at the Burrow."

Charlie shrugged before taking a large swig of his pint. "I'm here for the same reason as you. I don't want to be seen."

"Then why come to England?"

"I wanted to be home. Something happened, and...well, I just had to get out of Romania for a little while. Then when I got here, I realized I couldn't go to the Burrow because I'd have to explain why I was there. So I'm staying at the hotel down the road for a couple of nights, just to clear my head before going back. It's comforting to be home without exactly being home, if that makes any sense."

Hermione nodded. "So, in short, you're hiding in Muggle London."

"Basically, yes."

"May I ask why?"

"No."

"Oh, come on, Charlie," Hermione said. "It's not like I'm going to tell anyone I saw you here."

He scowled. "Fine. I'm here for the same reason as you. I'm recovering from a rather harsh breakup, okay?"

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry, Charlie."

"Me too."

"I didn't even know you were seeing anyone."

He shrugged. "I was rather quiet about it. You know how my family gets when there's a new significant other in the picture. The Burrow practically becomes its own gossip column."

Hermione smiled sadly. She missed the Burrow already. And even though they were chaotic in their own right, she missed the Weasleys even more.

"I don't even know what happened," Charlie continued. "Casey and I...we were happy. I thought everything was going perfectly. Then two days ago, out of nowhere, it's 'oh, I think we should take some time apart.' No reason, no explanation. I didn't even see it coming."

"Charlie, I don't even know what to say..."

"You don't have to say anything. What's done is done."

"How long were you with her?"

Charlie took a sip of his beer before tentatively answering, "_He_ and I were together for a little over three years."

Hermione nearly spit out her wine.

"_He?"_ she sputtered. "Oh, Merlin...I...I didn't know...I'm sorry..."

"It's alright. Not many people know."

"I just assumed that since you used to go out with Tonks...well..."

"It _is_ possible to like both, you know."

"I know that!" she exclaimed, her face reddening. "I just didn't know you...ugh, I'm sorry. I'll shut up now."

Charlie grinned. "Hermione, relax. It's quite alright."

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry," Charlie said. "But listen, I really should be going. It was nice seeing you, though."

"Nice to see you too, Charlie. Take care."

Charlie carefully counted out some Muggle money and placed it on the counter. To Hermione, though, it seemed like quite a generous amount for a single pint.

"Er, Charlie, I think you miscounted."

"Did I?" he questioned, counting the money on the counter once more. "Oh, you're right. Thank you."

He swept the excess money into his hand and shoved it back into his pocket. Charlie wasn't used to Muggle money, so Hermione figured it had been a simple mistake. Once he stood up, however, the miscounting suddenly made sense. Charlie was wavering on the spot.

"Merlin, Charlie, how much have you had tonight?"

"A few," he mumbled, gripping the back of the chair.

"By the looks of it, I'd say you've had more than a few," Hermione countered, standing up and looping her handbag over her shoulder. "Come on. I'll walk you back."

"Hermione, I'm fine, really. It was Muggle beer, for Merlin's sake."

"Really? Take a few steps without stumbling."

Charlie obliged, and sure enough, within four steps he was back to leaning on one of the bar seats.

"Told you. I'm just going to make sure you get back in one piece, alright?"

"I don't ne-"

"Charlie," she said sternly.

"Fine," he mumbled reluctantly.

Hermione snaked her arm through Charlie's and led him out of the pub. It was getting late and the crowd walking along the street had thinned. This was a good thing, though, seeing as Charlie kept drifting to the side despite Hermione's hold on him.

"Which one are you staying at?" she asked once they were about halfway down the street.

"That one," he said, pointing at the brick building on the corner.

"Of course you are," she mumbled. Naturally his hotel would be at the one furthest away.

Once they arrived at the hotel, Hermione silently summoned his room key from his pocket. He was staying on the top floor. Even though Hermione hated lifts, she pulled Charlie into the first one she saw; there was no way she was dragging his pissed self up eight flights of stairs.

She walked him to the lone couch in his room and placed him down gently.

"Blimey, I have a headache," he whined. "And the beer wasn't even that good. What a waste."

"You'll feel even worse in the morning," Hermione said.

"Lovely," he mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning back. "I can hardly wait."

"Do you want me to get you some hangover potion for you to take in the morning? I have some back at my flat. I don't know how well it will work on a hangover caused by Muggle drinks, but-"

"That...that would be a gift," he said, gently rubbing his temples. "Thank you."

Hermione nodded. "I'll be back in a few minutes, then."

Gripping her wand in her hand, she Apparated on the spot to her new flat. She landed in the sitting room. The floor was still covered in half-empty boxes and stacks of books that still needed sorting, but at least she'd already organized her supply of potions. They were in the small cupboard in the room she'd designated as her study. She found the hangover potion bottle rather quickly; there wasn't much left in it, so she made a mental note to brew some more over the weekend.

Just as she was about to Apparate back to the hotel, the small pile of mail on her desk caught her attention. The Evening Prophet was on the very top of the pile. It may have been a trick of the eye, but she could have sworn it was Ron's face on the cover. Curious, she walked across the room to her desk. Sure enough, a small photograph of Ron was on the side bar of the cover with the most alarming of headlines:

**Weasley Off the Market?  
****See page 26 for full story.**

Hermione desperately wanted not to care, but she flipped to the noted page in spite of herself. There was another photograph of him there, though this time it appeared to be a candid taken on a street somewhere, and he wasn't alone. There was a woman with him, and even Hermione couldn't help but notice that she was very pretty. She was smiling a charming smile. Though the picture was black and white, Hermione could tell her eyes were probably a lovely shade of green or blue. She had long, dark, wavy hair that danced around her shoulders as she walked alongside _her_ Ron.

_Oh, stop it, Hermione,_ she thought to herself. _He's not yours anymore._

Ron and the woman were just walking and talking in the photograph. They weren't holding hands or doing anything to indicate that this was anything more than a friendly chat, but the short blurb below the picture seemed to assume otherwise:

_Ronald Weasley, the famed hero of the Second Wizarding War and best friend of the great Harry Potter, was spotted in Hogsmeade yesterday conversing with Caerphilly Catapults seeker Alesia Halligan. While nothing has yet been confirmed, it is speculated that a romance is blossoming between the stunning witch and newly-single wizard. Both Mr. Weasley and Miss Halligan denied the Prophet's request for comment._

_Mr. Weasley has been in the headlines recently for his breakup with girlfriend and longtime best friend Hermione Granger, also a hero of the Second Wizarding War. It is believed that the two ended their two-year relationship due to differing preferences in professional Quidditch teams. While Miss Granger is known to favor the Holyhead Harpies, Mr. Weasley has always been an avid fan of the Catapults. If the above photograph is any indication, perhaps Miss Granger was simply tired of Mr. Weasley's reason for loving the team._

_Miss Granger has been contacted for comment, but no reply has yet been received._

_We will continue to keep you updated on this apparent fling between Mr. Weasley and Miss Halligan, as well as any responses from Miss Granger._

Hermione tossed the paper to the side with a snort, recalling Ron's bright orange bedroom at the Burrow that was covered in Chudley Cannons posters.

_Yes, Ron is such a huge fan of Caerphilly,_ she thought, rolling her eyes. _And breaking up due to Quidditch preferences? Really? How daft are these people?_

All kidding aside, she really didn't like what she saw in the paper. Had he actually found someone else already? Was she really that easy to replace?

She shook the thoughts from her mind. That photograph meant nothing. Alesia simply could have been asking Ron where Zonko's was; they may have not even been having a conversation at all. And it _was_ the Prophet, after all. The reporters there were known for regularly blowing things out of proportion.

Satisfied with that thought, she sorted through the rest of her mail until she found what she was looking for. When she spotted the all-too-familiar envelope from the Prophet which she knew contained a request for comments, she ripped it up and tossed it into the rubbish bin without even bothering to open it first. She had better things to do than satiate their hunger for gossip. Given, tending to a pissed Charlie wouldn't exactly be fun, but she'd take anything over answering to the twits from the Prophet.

With a grip and a twist, she was back in Charlie's room at the hotel, and what she saw horrified her. A trunk was opened on the floor in front of the lone couch, and its contents had obviously been rummaged through in haste. And there was Charlie, sprawled out on said couch with a bottle of Ogden's glued to his mouth.

"_Charlie!"_ she exclaimed, marching right over to him. "Are you mental? You've had enough. Give me that bottle."

She attempted to grab it, but Charlie yanked it away. Even though it was a small bottle - smaller than most whiskey bottles, anyway - he seemed desperate to hold onto it.

"He's supposed to love me," he slurred. "I love him. What'd I do wrong? Why doesn't he love me anymore, Hermione?"

"I don't know," she said. "But drinking the night away isn't going to help. Give me the bottle."

"What's wrong with me, Hermione? Why does everyone leave me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you, Charlie. And what do you mean everyone leaves you?"

"Tonks left me, too. Said she didn't want anything serious. Why d'ya think I ran off to Romania?"

"I...I don't know why she did that, Charlie. I don't know about Casey, either."

"Why not?" he said a little too loudly. "You're the smart one. Tell me."

"I don't have the answers to this, Charlie. Look at me. I'm in the same horrible situation as you."

"Here, then," he mumbled, holding out the bottle. "You're sad, too. Have some. It helps."

She shook her head. "No, thank you. I just came back to bring you the potion. I must be getting home."

"Come on, Hermione. You had hardly anything at the pub."

"I don't particularly fancy firewhiskey."

"But you fancy being heartbroken?"

Hermione was silent for a moment, not quite having a response at the tip of her tongue.

"Please?" he pleaded in a soft whisper. "I'm a wreck. Even if you don't drink, don't leave me here alone. I'll go mad."

Hermione felt terrible for him. She knew what he was going through. Charlie was always so lighthearted and fun, and it broke her heart to see him in such a mess. She didn't know him nearly as well as she knew the rest of the Weasleys, but she knew if their roles were reversed, he'd be more than willing to stay with her through a rough time. She reluctantly nodded.

"Okay," she said. "I'll stay. But I'm not drinking."

"That's fine. More for me."

"You really shouldn't have much more."

"So why are you upset?" Charlie asked, completely ignoring her remark. "What happened when you were gone?"

"Nothing happened," Hermione said, shifting in her seat while trying to ignore the _Prophet_ photograph that kept flashing through her mind. She had half a mind to simply cancel her subscription to that damn newspaper.

"What happened?" he repeated, not believing her for a second.

"Fine," Heremione said. "You want to know what happened? I read the _Evening Prophet,_ that's what happened. And you know what? Your darling little brother has already found a replacement for me. And she's fucking gorgeous. She plays Quidditch. _Professional_ Quidditch. Her hair is smooth and pretty. Her smile isn't an awkward, crooked mess. She's a million times better than me, and Merlin, I don't even know her, but I hate her."

"Hermione, that's not true."

"Which part?"

"All of it. Ron's not with her. It's the Prophet. They always make things up."

Hermione snorted. "Maybe, but Merlin, when I saw that damn picture...I just wanted to jump into it and rip her head off. His, too. I mean, if it _is_ true, and they're together...how _could_ he? Was I really that bloody awful to be around? Fucking hell, give me that bottle..."

Without waiting for him to hand it over, Hermione simply reached over and snatched it from Charlie's hands. She took a rather generous sip. It was bitter and burned her throat on the way down, but it was nothing in comparison to how her heart felt when she saw the picture of Ron and Alesia.

"Merlin, I still love him..." she muttered. "He's a miserable prat and immature as all hell, but I love him."

"And I still love Casey, even though he's a complete arse."

Hermione turned to Charlie. "I'm always going to love Ron, aren't I?"

"Perhaps."

"Fuck."

Hermione took another large, bitter swig before returning the bottle to Charlie. They continued this until the bottle was empty, after which Charlie simply grabbed another from his suitcase. They drank, ranted, whined, and drank some more.

And more.

And more.

Tears. Heartache.

More.

_More._

Laughter. Fun.

Third bottle.

Radio. Dancing around the room like idiots. Tripping over a pair of shoes. Laughing more. Broken lamp. Laughing harder.

And then...black.

Black. Black. Black. For a long time.

Then brightness.

"Umph," Hermione muttered. Her head was pounding. She didn't open her eyes, knowing that whatever was shining so bright would only make her headache worse. "What the...ugh."

As her mind began to wake up, she registered the feeling of wood on her face. And something wet...Merlin, was that _drool? _There was a weird taste lingering in her mouth, too. It was bitter and salty. It was gross. She knew the stupid firewhiskey had been a bad idea.

She opened her eyes slightly, and to her dismay, her vision was rather blurry and disoriented. The morning sun pouring through the window didn't help, though she did see the outline of a male figure lying on the other side of the room. He had flaming red hair.

_Charlie_, she thought. _I was with Charlie last night._

"Charlie?" she called out.

"Ugh," was the only she reply she received.

Hermione forced herself off the wooden floor of the hotel room while she tried to recall the events of the previous evening. She remembered the pub, that damn article in the Prophet, and having some firewhiskey. She remembered dancing and falling, and she was pretty sure Charlie knocked over a lamp at some point. And then there was the hangover potion...

The potion! She'd left it on the small table beside the couch. She slowly made her way over to it, stumbling a bit as she did so. She took a small sip of it, and her headache instantly began to subside. Her vision cleared up a bit. She didn't feel as wobbly. She grabbed a shirt from the floor to wipe the drool off her face.

"Charlie," she said, turning toward him, "drink some of this. You'll...EEEP!"

Hermione's shriek rang through the air as she hastily tossed the shirt at Charlie, covering his exposed groin.

"Ugh, shut up, will you?" he muttered angrily, eyes still closed. "Whatsa matter?"

"Charlie, why are you-? Merlin, pull your trousers up! What were you thinking?"

He ignored her. "Is that why it's so cold in here?"

"Charlie, please get up," averting her eyes from him despite the fact that she'd covered him up. "Put your trousers back in place!"

"Alright, woman, relax. I'm up," he said, slowly pulling himself off the floor. "Why the fuck are my trousers down, anyway? I hope I didn't piss on the floor..."

"I don't kn-"

Then it hit her. That lingering taste in her mouth, bitter and salty.

Firewhiskey _wasn't_ salty.

"Oh, Merlin, no," she muttered, hastily running into the loo and slamming the door behind her. She closed her eyes and brought her hands up to touch her lips. No. She wouldn't have. She _couldn't_ have.

"No. No, no, no, no..." she kept muttering. "Toothbrush, toothpaste..."

There was a single toothbrush, presumably Charlie's, on the ledge of the sink. Not caring what her parents had always said to her about never sharing toothbrushes, she squeezed some toothpaste on it and jammed it into her mouth. She scrubbed for five minutes straight and she _still_ felt dirty.

"What the fuck is _wrong_ with me?" she asked her reflection in the mirror above the sink.

"Hermione?" she heard Charlie call from the sitting room. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she lied. "Be right out."

She stared at herself in the mirror for a solid minute. She remembered nothing that happened after about halfway through their third bottle of firewhiskey the night before. Maybe she was over-thinking things; she did have a tendency to do that. Maybe this was just her imagination running wild. Maybe she'd gotten hungry during the middle of the night and ate some crisps or something. It could have been something as simple as that.

Hermione sighed. Somehow, regardless of how very possible they were, she hardly believed the alternative scenarios.

She avoided looking directly at Charlie as she walked back into the sitting room. He was plopped back down on the couch and miraculously fully-clothed.

"That hangover potion was a great idea," he said. "It worked wonders. Thank you."

"Don't mention it," she mumbled, still not meeting his gaze.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said, "but do you...er, remember anything from last night?"

"Aside from getting completely pissed? Nothing. Actually, wait...I broke a lamp, didn't I?"

"I think so. But other than that...?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Okay."

"Look, I'm sorry. I know you didn't want to drink last night. I shouldn't have asked you to stay."

"Don't be sorry. You didn't force me to drink."

"I know, but still-"

"Charlie," she said, "I said don't worry about it."

"Let's just forget it ever happened, yeah?"

She nodded. "Alright."

"Thank you, though, for staying. I was a mess last night. Still am, really."

_So am I, and apparently much worse than I originally thought,_ she added silently.

"I should be going. A bit of work to catch up on, you see."

He nodded. "I understand. I'll see you sometime soon, I hope. It really was good to see you again, Hermione."

She smiled sadly. "You too, Charlie."

"You and Ron...you'll work things out. Stay strong."

_That's unlikely now._

"I know," she lied once again. "And I hope you fix things with Casey."

"Me too."

With one final smile, Hermione stepped out of the room and headed down the stairs. She could have very easily Apparated directly to her flat, but she needed to clear her head. She had to think, and walking was good for that.

The morning sun was blinding as she stepped out onto the street she'd walked Charlie down just hours before. Everything looked the same, but she didn't quite remember feeling so guilty and disgusting the last time she was there.

Charlie's words rang in her mind. _Let's just forget it ever happened, yeah?_

"Yeah, let's," she muttered quietly to herself. "It never happened."

_It never happened. Never happened._

_Never happened._

_Never..._

_Ever..._

_Happened..._

* * *

Hermione was disgusted. How could she have allowed herself to drink that much? How could she have let her guard down like that? How could she have been so damn stupid? She still wasn't sure if what she thought happened between her and Charlie _actually_ happened or not, but she was still leaning toward the former.

_I'm a horrible person. Terrible. Awful._

Furious with herself, she roughly grabbed the next vial and hastily popped it open. She knew this one was worse than both Percy's and Charlie's, and she deserved to have it restored. She deserved the punishment.

Just like with the others, fumes rose from this vial, but Hermione didn't even bother to wait and see if they triggered any flashes in her mind. She quickly attached the memory to her wand and pressed it to her temple without a second thought.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Okay, so I've never been drunk, and the drinking scene in this is based solely upon stories I've heard from people who _have_ experienced those nights in which minutes or even hours go mysteriously missing from one's memory. Forgive me if it was a bit...er, weird, haha. I did the best I could with what I knew. :)

As always, much thanks to my lovely beta Katy for catching my silly typos and patiently putting up with my often unavoidable Americanisms.

Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4: Brewing With George

_**Chapter 4 - Brewing With George**_

**6 March, 2001**

Diagon Alley wasn't as crowded as it usually was, and Hermione assumed the foul weather had something to do with it. On top of it being windy and cold, it was one of those days when the sky couldn't seem to decide whether it wanted to rain or not. Naturally, the day she got to leave work early and sneak in some shopping time was the most miserable day of the week.

She'd gone into Flourish and Blotts first, of course, and it was wonderful to simply browse once again without being followed by journalists and photographers. While she still got the occasional request for an interview from time to time, the media frenzy surrounding her and Ron's breakup seven months before had cooled down within a few weeks. Once word got out that he and Miss Alesia Halligan were an item, that was all anyone wanted to read about. Hermione was old news, and she didn't mind it one bit. Being left alone made it so much easier to let go and move on, and she really _had_ moved on. Sort of.

Sometimes, she still missed him.

That day in Diagon Alley was one of those times. After stopping in the Magical Menagerie to get some cat treats for Crookshanks, her eyes couldn't avoid the bright orange store front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was only after she saw the shop that she recalled Ron's birthday had been a few days before, and the thought of it just made her sad. While she missed being able to call him her boyfriend, what she missed more was simply having him around. She missed his corny jokes, his crazy Quidditch obsession, and even their petty little arguments that meant nothing. Despite the fact that they fought like crazy even before they become a couple, Hermione never imagined their friendship dying. They'd been through so much together. Besides Harry, Ron was the only person in the world who would ever understand why she still had nightmares about forests sometimes or why she still kept her handbag large enough to carry a house, just in case.

She wondered if he missed her, too. She didn't expect he missed her as a girlfriend –he'd obviously moved on in that respect- but did he at least miss her as a friend? If she wrote to him just to see how his life was going, would he write back? If they ran into each other on the street, would he say hello, or would he just turn in the other direction and pretend he never saw her?

Hermione decided it wouldn't hurt to find out. The worst he could do was ignore her, and while that would be devastating, she could cope with that. She'd rather deal with a day or two of heartache than a lifetime of wondering.

She'd never been apprehensive about walking into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes before, but seeing as she hadn't been in the shop since she broke up with Ron, this time was a little different. Upon arriving at the door, she didn't walk right in the way she once did. She stood there for a moment, going over in her head exactly what she planned to say to Ron. She wasn't sure why, but she also absentmindedly checked her reflection in the shop window, patting down her hair as she did so. Then, before she could change her mind, she opened the door and stepped in.

There were hardly any people in the shop; while one woman sorted through love potions, two children in the back stared excitedly at the Skiving Snackboxes while their father attempted to urge them along. Neither Ron or George were behind the sales counter. Instead, their assistant, Verity, greeted Hermione with a smile and a friendly wave.

"Miss Granger!" Verity said happily. "How lovely to see you!."

"Hello, Verity," she replied kindly.

"It's been quite a while! What brings you here?"

"I was just hoping to see R-" Hermione stopped herself, reminding herself that she should address Ron as Verity would. "Mr. Weasley. Is he in?"

"Indeed he is. He's still in the back, if I'm not mistaken. Go right in."

"Are... are you sure? He won't be...?"

"I'm sure he won't mind," Verity said. "He was just talking about you this morning, actually, so I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

"Oh, well... alright then," Hermione said, doing everything in her power to conceal the giddy smile that desperately wanted to take over her features. Ron had been talking about her? He might actually be happy to see her? She could have danced.

With a final nod to Verity, Hermione stepped around the sales counter and walked down the familiar corridor leading to the room which served as both a storage area and a laboratory. It once felt so normal to walk down that corridor; there was once a time when she didn't even have to ask for permission to go back there. Hermione felt a twinge of sadness at this; it was amazing how even the littlest things about her time with Ron were deeply missed.

She cracked open the door at the end of the hall and poked her head inside. The room looked pretty much the same as it did the last time she saw it. There were stacks of boxes piled along the right wall, while shelves containing various potion ingredients, potions already bottled, and informative books lined the left. Cauldrons, both clean and dirty, were scattered here and there. The only difference was usually two Weasleys occupied the room. Today, however, only George was there, hovering over a rather large cauldron and stirring its contents.

_Perhaps Ron is just taking a lunch break,_ she thought. _I'll just wait in the front._

Just as she was pulling the creaky door toward her to close it, George spoke up.

"Verity? Is that you?"

Hermione poked her head in once more.

"No, it's just me. I was just looking for-"

"Hermione!" George exclaimed happily, letting go of the stirrer and placing a cover on the cauldron. His work bench wobbled quite a bit as he jumped off of it. He walked over to her and gave her a big, warm hug.

"Where've you been, darling?" he asked. "I've missed seeing you around here."

Hermione just chuckled and hugged him back. She'd missed George almost as much as she'd missed Ron. After Fred's death, George was never quite the same joker he used to be, but he was still always able to make Hermione smile under any circumstance.

"So where's Ron?" Hermione asked once they pulled apart. "On lunch, I expect."

George shook his head. "He's only here a couple days a week now. He started his Auror training last month."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope."

"Wow, that's... wow," Hermione breathed. Ron... an Auror. He had finally caved in. She knew she shouldn't have been surprised, seeing as it was the job he'd always dreamed of having, but she was nonetheless a bit put off. During the two years they were together, she'd told him time and time again that he could do it, but he always said he was happy at the joke shop with George. She couldn't help but wonder what had changed his mind.

_And why haven't I heard this news yet?_ she thought. She did work for the Ministry, after all, and news did tend to travel fast in that building despite its enormous size. She was shocked Harry or Ginny hadn't even bothered to tell her. Then again, they may have simply not wanted to risk upsetting her by bringing him up. Still, she was happy for Ron. He'd be a fine Auror. She was sure of it.

"I'm glad you stopped in, Hermione, even if you didn't want to see me." George said that last part playfully, pouting a bit as he did so.

"Oh, George, it's not that I-"

George laughed. "Honestly, Hermione, it's quite alright. But I do have something for you. Here, hold on a moment..."

He breezed over to the single, messy desk tucked away in the corner of the room. It was covered in what appeared to be paperwork and order forms, as well as a half-eaten sandwich, all of which George pushed aside as he rummaged around.

"Where is the damn thing?" he muttered. "I know it's here somewhere-ah! Got it!" He fished out an envelope from the heaps of paper.

"I meant to send this to you ages ago," George said, handing Hermione the envelope, "but... well, as you can see, I'm not the most organized person in the world."

Hermione just eyed him inquiringly as she tore open the envelope. She was expecting a belated Christmas card or something of that nature, but instead, it was an invitation. An invitation to...

"A wedding?" she asked gleefully, looking up at George with her eyes happy and wide. "You and Angelina? You're finally...?"

George nodded with a grin. "I asked her at Christmas, and we were going set the date for sometime in autumn, but we just couldn't wait that long. The wedding's in June."

"Congratulations, George!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you both!"

"Thank you," George replied happily. "And that invitation includes a plus one, so just let me know if you plan on bringing anyone with you."

"Oh. Um, probably not," Hermione said sheepishly. "There's not really... well, you know..."

George tilted his head. "A lovely girl like you having no luck finding someone special? I find that hard to believe."

Hermione shrugged. "I've been on a few dates and whatnot, but there's just no one I'd really feel like bringing with me to a wedding."

"I understand," George said with a nod. "But you'll be coming, right?"

"Of course! That is, if I'm... welcome."

"What are you on about? Of course you're welcome! Angie and I wouldn't be inviting you if you weren't."

"I didn't mean you and Angie. I just meant... er..."

"Ron?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, Ron."

"Hermione," George began, "it's my wedding, not his. If Angie and I want you there, that's what matters. And we _do_ want you there, date or no date. Got it?"

"Got it," Hermione laughed. "Thanks, George."

"Of course."

"And Ron," she added casually, "will he be bringing Alesia?"

George snorted. "Merlin, I hope not."

"Why?"

"Honestly, I can't stand her. _Me_. You know how hard it is for me to not like someone. But I don't think he'll be bringing her. They're sort-of broken up at the moment."

"Since when?"

"I know the tabloids say otherwise, but those two haven't been consistent at all. They're together, then two weeks later, they're not. They can't make up their minds. I don't even think Ron cares all that much for her, to tell you the truth. I think he actually... never mind."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"This is going to sound awful, but it just seems like she's a placeholder. A quick fix, if you will. Something to keep the reporters happy and off his back. It's the same for her too, I think. I've only met her a few times, but I've never got the impression that she liked him for anything other than his status. Gosh, that really _does_ sound awful, doesn't it? Just ignore me."

"Let's... let's just stop talking about it, alright?" Hermione said awkwardly. She almost wanted to smile at the thought of Ron not really caring for Alesia, or vice versa. She liked to think it was because somewhere in the back of his mind he still thought of her all the time, but Hermione dismissed that thought immediately.

_It's over,_ she reminded herself. _He's moved on and...well, you've _tried_ to move on. You'll get there, Hermione, and then it really will be over._

George offered her a sad smile. "You still love him, don't you?"

_Yes,_ she thought, but Hermione settled for a shrug and replied, "I don't know."

"Well, he was your first love. You know what they say about first loves. You'll always care on some level. Maybe even always wonder."

"I know," she agreed, deciding she'd pondered her feelings for Ron enough for one day. In an attempt to change the subject, she gestured to the cauldron and queried,

"So, what's that you're working on?"

"Just another product improvement," George said. "Well, an attempt at an improvement, at least. Actually, while you're here, would you mind if I borrowed your nose?"

"Excuse me?"

George laughed. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I've just been around this stuff all morning and I'm a bit desensitized to the smell. Usually I have Ron to... never mind. Would you mind testing it for me?"

"Er, alright," Hermione said with a shrug.

"Excellent," George said, gesturing her over to the cauldron. "Now, the potion is safe to smell, but be sure not to touch it."

"Why not?"

"Because of the type of potion it is, it needs to be diluted before being either touched or consumed. It's too strong otherwise."

"So what kind of potion is it, then?"

"Actually, I was hoping you could tell me that," George replied as he lifted the lid off the cauldron, allowing the fumes to escape from the bubbly pink liquid within. "What does it smell like to you?"

Hermione inhaled deeply to discover that this was a very pleasant potion. It smelt of parchment, mown grass, and a certain Weasley. She tried to ignore the last part.

"It must be Amortentia," she declared.

George's face fell. "Amortentia? That's what it smells like?"

Hermione nodded. "To me, at least."

"Shit," George muttered, briskly walking over to his shelf of potion ingredients. "I was afraid of that."

"What's the matter with it?"

"Well, the potion I'm trying to make is supposed to be similar to Amortentia, but not smell like it," George stated as he shuffled through the contents on the shelf.

"Why would you want to do that?"

"The love potions we have for sale now have been becoming too familiar. Their scents are too easily recognized, making them more difficult for people to sneak into food or drink. Ah, here we go!" George added happily as he found a bottle of a periwinkle-colored juice of some kind.

"So, you're trying to brew Amortentia without the scent? It's impossible."

"I know." He poured a tiny amount of the periwinkle juice into the cauldron, causing the potion to evolve from magenta to a calming shade of sunset orange. He stirred it a bit. "This isn't exactly like Amortentia. It's similar, but not quite as permanent. It causes a temporary infatuation. It's intended to wear off quickly and give the person who slips the potion just enough time to steal a kiss or something. I'm not quite sure why people are so fascinated by it – it seems a bit pointless to me, actually – but the product flies off the shelves, so I keep making it. Here, smell it now. Is it any different?"

Hermione inhaled once more and shook her head.

"I still smell grass."

George raised an eyebrow while he added more of the periwinkle juice. "Grass? That's part of what Amortentia smells like to you?"

"Oh, shut up," Hermione scoffed with a blush. "I'm sure yours is just as weird."

"Cinnamon, leather, and lilac," George admitted with a grin. He gestured to the cauldron once more. "How about now?"

"The grass is gone, but now the scent of parchment is back."

"Parchment? Dare I ask what your third one is?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure you can figure that one out on your own."

"Ah, right. Sorry," George said sheepishly. He quickly changed the subject. "How strong was the scent this time?"

"Not very."

"Hm, I wonder," George muttered, walking back to the shelf once more. He grabbed a small vial and returned to the cauldron. "Perhaps this."

He didn't put more than a drop or two of this new ingredient into the cauldron, but it was enough to cause the potion to take on the relaxing shade of the sky on a cloudless spring afternoon. The potion itself even seemed to calm down: the bubbling came to a halt and aside from a few mild ripples, the liquid was still.

"Okay, that should take care of it," George said. "Hermione, if you would..."

Hermione breathed in deeply. There were no traces of parchment, grass, or Ron. There was no trace of anything, actually.

"I smell nothing," Hermione said with a smile.

"Nothing at all? Not just scents related to your Amorentia, but nothing whatsoever?"

"Just air."

"Excellent!" he exclaimed happily. A grin that was goofy even for George's standards spread across his face. "I'll just let it settle overnight and begin testing it with biscuits and pumpkin juice tomorrow. Thanks, Hermione!"

Hermione laughed. "Happy to help. I really should be off, though."

George nodded. "Back to the office?"

"I have the rest of the day off, actually, but I was planning to get some paperwork done at home."

George laughed. "You never change, Hermione."

She shrugged. "I have nothing else to do with my time."

"Well, just remember, you have plans on the 16th of June."

"I do?"

"Yeah. You know... my wedding? That thing we were just discussing five minutes ago?"

"Right! I'm sorry!" Hermione exclaimed, holding up her invitation. "The 16th of June. I won't forget. Promise."

"I'm holding you to that," George said, climbing up onto his workbench once again. "It's going to-"

Then it happened. The wobbly bench snapped beneath him, George stumbled into the oversized cauldron, and within seconds, the potion he'd been brewing was splashing everywhere, covering the workshop in a sea of placid blue.

"Don't touch it!" George exclaimed, running over with his wand out. "It hasn't been diluted yet! Don't! It'll...it..."

But it was too late. The potion had splashed up onto Hermione's forearms, and she felt... dizzy. No, dizzy wasn't the right word. _Relaxed_. Relaxed, but so alive. And warm. Very, very warm.

Her vision was blurry and her skin was itchy with sweat, but it surprisingly didn't bother her. Even though the sensations weren't unpleasant by any means, something deep within her wanted to make them go away. It didn't make any sense, but she knew that's what was right. She had to do something... she had to fix it...

And once her eyes fell on George, she knew how it would be done. The look in his eyes told her he knew it, too.

She saw and felt nothing but lust. It was pure, uncontrollable lust that only one act, one blissful conclusion, could cure.

An unseen force pulled them together, and the encounter was over almost as quickly as it started. They didn't even stop to kiss. Their minds and bodies told them there was no time. They _needed_ that moment of ecstasy. Her clothes were the first to go, and his were quick to follow. Their heightened sensitivity brought them both to the euphoric ends their bodies so desperately sought in a matter of minutes. He groaned and shook, she cried out and quaked, and it was over.

They lay there for a few moments in the aftermath as their vision cleared and their temperatures cooled. Neither said a word for a while. They were too shocked. Embarrassed. Appalled, even. What had they just _done_?

"Fuck." George said it, but Hermione had been thinking it long before he broke the silence.

_Fuck! s_he thought. _You fucking idiot, Hermione! You _know_ how to defend yourself against potion accidents! What were you thinking? You weren't thinking, that's what! And now you've gone and shagged Ron's brother because of it! Ron's _engaged_ brother! How could you do this to him, to Angelina... fuck, how could you do this to _yourself!_ Stupid, stupid, stupid! FUCK!_

"Son of a bitch! I'm so fucking stupid!" George cried, burying his face in his hands. "Damn it! This is my fault, all of it! I knew that bench was a piece of shit. I kept telling myself to fix it, too. And I knew how dangerous that bleedin' potion was. I should have diluted it right away. I know better than that! And now look what we've done, what _I've_ done!"

"George-"

"I mean... _fuck!_ I'm _engaged, _and you're my brother's girl! Angie... oh Merlin, how could I do this to her? To us? What is _wrong _with me?"

"George, stop. Just stop. It was an accident." Hermione said this all very calmly, but her mind was just as much of a wreck as George's obviously was. She just didn't want the entire shop to hear it. Those walls were only so thick.

"This... this can't leave this room, Hermione," George added hastily. "I know it was an accident, but-"

"I know."

"-we have to pretend this never happened, alright?"

"I know."

"Please, please, _please_ don't bring this up. Ever. It will ruin everything. Angie will never speak to me again. Ron won't, either. I think he still-"

"George, don't. Just don't. I... I should go..."

"Hermione-"

"I don't want to talk about it, alright? Not now, not ever." She quickly pulled on her clothes, carefully avoiding the sight of George's nude body sprawled out beside her. "Just leave it. I'll... I'll talk to you another time, alright?"

Before George could say another word, Hermione bolted out of the workshop, patting down her hair as she headed down the corridor. She shouted a hasty farewell to Verity before stepping back out into the dreary Diagon Alley. From the scent, she could tell it had rained again, perhaps more than once. How long had she been in there, anyway?

And what had George been thinking, calling her Ron's girl? He must have just been rambling and not giving a second thought to anything he was saying. That is, unless he knew something she didn't. He had been about to say something regarding Ron before she cut him off. George said he thought Ron still...what? What did he think about Ron? That he still loved her?

_Like that would make any damn difference after what you just did, _Hermione thought, an inevitable tear trickling down her face. _Even if Ron does still care about you, which is highly unlikely to begin with, he'd never take you back after today. What kind of idiot goes to wish a happy belated birthday to the man she still cares about and ends up having it off with his brother instead? You can blame that stupid potion if you want, but you know damn well you could have stopped its effects if you'd just got your mind in the right place. Why do you _always _lose your head in a crisis, Hermione? WHY?_

To make matters worse, just as she stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione looked out the window and spotted Angelina coming out of Madam Malkin's. She'd probably been having a fitting for a dress. A dress to wear on the day of her marriage to the man Hermione had just shagged in the back room of a joke shop.

She thought she was going to be sick, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the nauseating sensation involved with using the Floo.

_We have to pretend this never happened, alright?_ George had said.

As Hermione stepped out of her fireplace and into the sitting room of her flat, she forced herself to repeat George's words in her head She'd lose her lunch if she didn't.

_It never happened. Never happened._

_Never happened._

_Never. . ._

_Ever. . ._

_Happened. . ._

* * *

Hermione sobbed and fell to her knees in her study, dropping the newly-emptied vial in the process. No wonder she'd removed that memory. It was awful. Disgusting. Ginny had once asked her why she hadn't attended George's wedding. Hermione had blamed it on not wanting to see Ron, but now she remembered the real reason, and she hated it.

But that was only part of the reason she cried. The other part was because she knew that despite how awful that last memory had been, despite how hard it had been to see once more, she knew that there was one even worse.

And it was waiting for her in the very last vial.

"Bill," she whispered.

She picked it up with shaky hands as quiet, salty tears streamed down her face. She didn't want to do it. She didn't even _have_ to. She could have stopped right there and tucked the vial away for good. She could lie to Ron. To herself. She'd been doing it for months. Why not do it for a lifetime?

The plan sounded so nice. It was ever-so-tempting...

She popped the vial open anyway.

* * *

**Author's Note:** My sincerest apologies for the delay with this chapter. One would think summer would be the perfect time to update a multi-chap in a timely manner, but RL more or less went from boring to chaotic in the last few weeks. Thankfully, things have calmed down (plus I'm settled into my new place - yay!) so hopefully that will equate to speedier updates.

Another huge thank-you to Katy for her continued support and willingness to beta-read this mess. :)

Thanks for reading! See you all soon!


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